


keep me in mind

by geminimars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Lots of Cute Stuff, M/M, mild Leia/Han at the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23524633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geminimars/pseuds/geminimars
Summary: It takes a moment. That’s what makes Luke’s stomach ache, the anticipation. Something he’s wanted for so long—he has it now, and he leans forward as Han does, kissing him.or: han and luke write the star wars universe together, aka their own fanfic
Relationships: Luke Skywalker/Han Solo
Comments: 1
Kudos: 62





	keep me in mind

**Author's Note:**

> writing normal things is weird. 
> 
> the modern au head-canon that luke writes the star wars story makes me soft inside, so i did this

Holding hands with Han feels _strange._

Strange in the best way. 

You see—it’s more than that; it’s them, reenacting Leia’s _lead_ school play, as lovers. They’re forbidden lovers and she says: “What better than you two?! It’s perfect! _Please.”_ She gives him the twin look, and he can’t resist. 

And Han? He’s long gone. 

It breaks Luke’s heart, just a sliver, but as they go hand in hand, he doesn’t mind the ache in his heart anymore. “Why are your hands so fucking _sweaty,_ kid, Jesus.” Han laughs, and Luke has to clear his throat. 

“Competition makes me nervous.” 

Leia glares at them from her script. 

They’re in an old treehouse Leia and he had hung out in so many years ago. It was them, then them and Han, then just Luke. And Luke doesn’t mind—he has too many thoughts wandering his mind, and all he ever wants to do is write them down. And create them. 

Anyway: “ _competition_? You can’t do this to begin—“ 

“Han! Quit pestering my brother. Luke, _please_ don’t back talk to him. He’s too much of a narcissist to argue with.” 

Luke chuckles under his other hand that is _not_ occupied by Han. Han almost flips, but Luke has to squeeze his hand to calm him down. 

It seems to work. He grunts once, but doesn’t say anything about the subject anymore. 

Here they _are._ Him and Leia are almost freshly sixteen, and Han just turned seventeen, and they’re doing _this._ Instead of doing homework, or underaged drinking (that’s _not_ Luke’s thing—he just assumes it’s the cool thing to say, right?). _Or_ he’d be writing. 

So much better than this. Holding hands with _Han Solo,_ someone he’s grown to admire—someone he’s seen change drastically through Luke’s own eyes. From asshole to _charming_ asshole, he sweeps Luke’s heart right up with a broom and throws it in the bin. 

He sighs. “Leia.” 

“Yeah, yeah! Keep holding sweaty hands,” she’s rearranging furniture that they bought with allowance money all those years ago; she’s having trouble and Han breaks contact _twice_ to help, but she swats him away. “I don’t need your help, fur brain.” 

He just rolls his eyes. Signature scowl. Holds hands with Luke again. 

Why _are_ Luke’s hands so sweaty? He sort of knows why. And he wishes they’d start because when his thoughts wild around like this, he starts sweating. And his shirt feels oddly sticky on his back. 

Thank God for the jacket. 

“Okay!” She beams, and Luke can see the expression on Han’s face. It’s love. He almost goes, but doesn’t. It’s for his sister. “I’m all done now. I’m going to read the script, you two losers act out, okay?” 

“What play even is this, princess?” 

She smiles. “That’s the fun, isn’t it?” 

And Luke knows the play. It’s Romeo and Juliet, but with a _twist—_ Luke has no idea how Han doesn’t know what this is… it’s their school play. 

Whatever. 

After an hour or so of Han complaining, Leia complaining back, and Luke _trying_ to follow the script, they stop after a mountain of laughter occurs. They fight too much, and eventually end up laughing over it—Han is on his back on the sheet Leia laid down on the ground, Luke not far from. 

They were about to reenact a kiss, Leia _all_ aboard for it, but it ended up being chaos. 

“What, Han, you don’t want to kiss me?” 

Han grins, chuckling, “And who said that? I just think kissing my girlfriend’s twin brother is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” And _sure,_ it could be. 

But it’s for a play, he almost says. He decides against it. “Oh come _on,”_ Leia giggles, positioning herself so she’s lying next to Han, who wraps an arm around her. “He’s almost as cute as me, look at that face.” 

She reaches up for a moment to pinch his cheeks, and Luke quickly scrambles away. 

“You two are in my space! It’s unsettling,” he says, but he’s laughing because Han is too trying to punch his cheeks. “You two are disgusting. I want time to myself, it’s been too long.” 

They both protest. “It’s been _three_ hours, Luke! You’re exaggerating,” Leia pouts, but begins to recollect her things. “But we _shall._ Come on, nerfherder.” 

Han hums. As Leia gathers her things, Luke looks over at Han, who’s lying in a position that makes him look like an absolute _douche._ It’s a fitting look—and after a few moments of staring and silence, the boy moves slightly and looks right back at Luke. 

He feels something soar through his chest. Like a bullet. It’s pain, and he doesn’t want to feel that way anymore. 

He looks away. Leia then drags Han up, who curses and protests, but eventually cooperates with her and helps her out with her things without her asking. Which is polite of him, and Luke makes note of that. 

“Bye, cutie, have fun,” Leia blows him a kiss with her hand, and Luke makes sure to catch it with his own. She smiles, satisfied, slowly and carefully going down the latter. 

And before Han goes, they exchange looks. 

Han’s expression is unreadable. It’s soft—softer than what he usually shoots towards Luke; he assumes it’s an older _brother_ thing, so he accepts it, but this? It’s different. 

“See ya, kid.” 

And he’s gone. Luke’s alone. 

He wanted it, but it feels wrecking when it finally happens. 

— 

Leia and Han have been dating for almost a year now. 

And Luke’s been infatuated with that same boy for almost two. And that’s okay—if anyone gets happiness, he’d want it to be Leia. 

And they seem happy. For some time, at least. 

Luke starts to notice small changes. How Leia stays in her room too often, he sees her in the hallways alone, and the weirdest thing: Han doesn’t come around much anymore. When he does, it’s for Luke. Or for something he forgot the last time he was there. 

That’s never been the case with them. They’ve been inseparable for three years—no one can tear the trio apart, and Luke feels himself sink at the thought of losing what they have. 

He asks Leia. 

“Hey, Leia,” he sits next to her on the couch. She’s half paying attention; she’s messing with a string on the blanket that’s over her. 

She takes a second. “Hi, Luke.” The sadness in her voice breaks Luke’s heart—she’s felt like this for days, and the guilt he feels for never addressing it is indescribable. “I’m sure you’re wondering why Han isn’t around, huh?” 

“A little bit, yeah. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” 

She nods. “I’m okay. We just… we had a falling out. Nothing we can’t solve, right?” She smiles up at him, but it’s not a genuine smile, not a Leia smile. “He misses you, I’m sure. Why don’t you go talk to him?” 

He doesn’t hesitate. “No. No, I’d rather be here with you. It can wait.” 

And his deepest fear hurts him more than ever. The three of them, separating. Completely parting ways; or, Han parting ways with _them._ Han has other friends—other friends that aren’t them, that are more popular and aren’t complete _nerds._

But that’s why Han loved them so much.

That’s why Luke loves him so much. No matter what, he’d be there for them; he always has. He won’t let this go to waste. 

“We’ll fix it,” he grabs her hand, and he manages to watch a few episodes of The Bachelor with her before they can’t take it anymore. 

They smile and laugh. Without Han. 

— 

Three days later, there’s the sound of someone climbing the tree house ladder.

Luke assumes it’s Leia, so he continues writing. 

When the sound turns into boots landing on the wood, he immediately turns. And there _he_ is. 

Someone he hasn’t seen in days. The same someone who’s so infatuating, someone who can manage to take Luke’s breath away within a second, and the same someone who broke his sister’s heart. 

“Hi.” 

Han’s eyes shift from worried to relieved, and he crouches down so they’re the same height. 

“Hey, kid. I’m sorry for the silence.” 

“It’s okay,” and truthfully, it is. “You needed your time. You both did,” he says. Han comes forward a few inches, his eyes focused on the notebook that Luke’s holding. 

Full of sketches. Ideas. Characters that he brings to life. A character that’s in front of him; someone so beautiful, so admiring he could _die._

“Thanks for understanding. I missed ya, I expected a call.” 

“Wasn’t that your job? You up and left, you know.” He says it as a joke, but Luke knows that he’s heartbroken, too—all three of them are. “Are you and Leia going to work it out?”

Han nods slowly. “We did. That’s why I’m uh, here,” he’s hesitant. His voice is shallow and small, a way Luke hasn’t heard in years. That’s the Han he sees right now. Not the overly confident, annoying, smug Han Solo that he’s known since he was eleven years old. That’s not him right now. So, Luke lightens his grip on the notebook, and moves closer. 

“She loves you.” _So do I._

“I know. I didn’t mean to break her heart.” 

Luke doesn’t ask. He nods, instead. “Okay. I’ll stop being mad at you once I finally start seeing you again, because I miss you,” Luke confesses. And Han knew that, but he smiles anyway—it’s that shit-eating grin, the annoying, smug Han Solo. 

He nods. “That sounds like a deal, kid. Now show me that shit you’re working on,” he nods towards the notebook that Luke is _tightly_ holding against his chest, like it’ll run away from him if he just slightly breaks the tight grip. 

He hesitates. He’s shown and explained his plans and writings to Han once, but they were just kids then. That was when Luke’s writings were a fantasy, and they didn’t _exist._ He shared ideas. 

And now he’s sharing actual ideas. 

Ideas that involve Han. Ideas that involve him, Han and Leia—they _rule_ the galaxy; once upon a time, they did, at least. He’s working on a conclusion. 

He’s designing fighter jets, making his father an evil villain and Anakin _always_ gets a laugh out of it. Padme does, also. “I don’t ever see your father capable,” she smiles warmly, ruffling Luke’s hair. “Your imagination is precious. Keep writing, love.” 

And he _does._

“Um… you, you _sure?”_

Han looks at him like he’s insane. “Of course I’m _sure._ You shared it with me all those years ago, I’ve been looking for a good time,” he slides in closer, and Luke is so close to him now, he’s able to feel the warmth of Han’s boots that are pressing against his ankle. He swallows. 

“Okay. Sure. You can’t laugh.” 

“Why would I? C’mon, kid, you see me as _that_ guy?” 

“No!” He stutters, “no, Han. Of course not. I just—I haven’t shared this with… anyone, really? Just my dad. For a humorous reason.” 

“Your dad _must_ be the evil villain, huh? That guy still scares the shit out of me,” he mumbles. Luke smiles and shakes his head, but eventually nods. 

“I knew it.” 

And after, he shares. He doesn’t share everything—doesn’t share the writing he expressed towards Han, but explains the dynamic of his character; witty, strong, charming—he _charms_ to get through life. 

“Hm. Sounds fun, huh? Can’t believe you see me as a smuggler.” He pokes fun, and Luke shyly ducks his head. 

Doesn’t mention the infatuation Luke seems to have with Han in this fantasy world— _Star Wars—_ but there’s _one_ slip up. Him and Leia are potentially ending up together, because that’s how Luke has always seen them. 

Luke loves Han, but knows— _knew_ —that Han and Leia were meant to be. It was those two who were always going to be together. Should he _change_ that? Years of writing just to wash it down the drown. 

“Me and Leia, huh?” 

“I feel like I should change it now. I’m not sure.” 

“Don’t,” Han shrugs. “We’re past it. Or, at least we think we are. It’ll take some time, and you’ll figure that out once in your life,” Han explains. Luke doesn’t _want_ to figure that out. 

Is it too much to say that he wants _him_ forever? No fighting, no falling out, no splitting. That seems impossible with Han. 

“Okay.” 

He keeps it. Writes more for them—gives them a wedding; a wedding his mother and father had, just not close to Naboo. Maybe somewhere different. 

After a little more explaining, Han asks: “are _you_ charmed by me, huh? You don’t seem to have someone.” He’s pestering and poking fun, but Luke clears his throat silently. 

“Not… not _charmed,_ um—“

“Oh, don’t get all _flustered!_ ” He laughs, shoving Luke’s shoulder playfully. “I know you have to love me. You do now, don’t you?” 

Luke hopes he’s joking. 

He must be frozen, because he breaks out of a trance when Han laughs even louder. 

“You should see your _face,_ kid. So priceless. I’m just pulling your leg,” and now he’s closer. He’s placing his palm on Luke’s thigh—his palm, so warm and so comforting. Luke uncomfortably shuffles so he’s sitting up straight. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that, Han Solo?” 

Han chuckles, his expression softening. 

“I have to run. Thanks for showing me this shit, Luke. It’s… it’s fucking cool. You should write a book,” he says, and Luke waits for the _just kidding_ segment, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Han gets up, his boots heavily stomping against the wood as he walks towards the matter, not forgetting to turn. Never. “See you in class?” 

Luke nods, smiling. _I’ll miss you_. “Of course. I’ll see you, Han.” Han grins and nods once, moving to go down, but before, Luke calls out his name. He stops and looks at him. “I’m glad you’re—you and Leia are okay. I’m glad you worked it out.” 

With a second of disappointment, Han nods, and Luke thinks he imagined it. 

“Thanks, kid, me too.” 

He goes down the ladder. Luke gets up quickly and peers out the window, watching him go—so _tall,_ so beautiful and Luke wishes he was able to take his eyes off of him. Wishes he could stop feeling this way. He slowly pushes himself back, and goes back to writing. 

— 

Things seem to go back to normal after Leia and Han talk. 

They begin to hang out as a trio again, instead of it being Han and Leia and Luke _occasionally_. It’s all three of them all of the time now. 

There’s no snuggling or kissing—which they never did, really, but they keep distance from each other. They talk like they always have, laugh like they always have. 

Except for _one_ thing. Luke, now more than ever, feels an undying attachment to this boy who doesn’t seem to think any different of him. Luke watches him, studies the way he acts and the things he says—as he does, he notices how he laughs; his one lip tilts up, and the laughter spills out the side of his mouth. He man spreads _way_ too much. Luke doesn’t mind that, because he’s able to watch his legs and… _yeah._ He shouldn’t be thinking about that.

Him and Han exchange looks when Leia goes for a moment, and Luke doesn’t know what it means. 

They look, but don’t speak. 

Han’s eyes are different than before. He doesn’t look at Leia that way anymore—Luke sees a hint of that in the way he looks at him, but that’s a minor stretch. Luke studies him too much, so he thinks he’s a _master._

He’s not. He’s fantasizing. 

Before Han goes, Luke walks him to the door, and before he can say goodbye, Han gets _real_ close. Close enough that Luke has to strain his neck to look up at him, close enough that his palms start to get sweaty so he removes his hand from the knob, close enough that his heart is beating _so fast_ and _so loud_ he’s sure Han can hear. 

“I…” 

“Have… have a good night kid, okay?” 

Han touches his shoulder, slides his hand down his arm and chuckles when he reaches his sweaty palms. He holds his hand for a moment, and as he walks away, their arms out-stretch and let go once Han is too far. 

“Goodnight, Han!” 

He beams from the doorway, and Han gives him a bright smile back that makes Luke’s heart flutter in his chest. “Night, kid!” 

He’s so confused, but so content. 

When he goes back into the house, not without watching Han leave completely, he turns to find Leia in his face. 

Her eyebrows are raised, arms crossed. 

“Luke.” 

“I do _not_ need a lecture from you,” he mutters and tries to walk past her, but she’s quick enough to block the way. He scuffs and looks at her, head tilted. “What, Leia!” 

“No.” 

“Leia…” 

“What was that?” Luke wishes he knew. “You can’t—not _him,_ Luke. He’s too…” she whispers, not able to find the right words without making it sound harsh. She loves Han, but Luke mildly understands. “I don’t want you hurt.” 

Luke glares at her. “I _really_ don’t need you lecturing me, Leia,” he ducks his head. “There’s nothing going on between us two. I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

Leia shakes her head. “I don’t care about _me,_ dingbat! I care about you!” She sighs, and moves out of the way so Luke can step away, which he does. He goes a few feet away from the door, wiping his hands on his pants. “Do you love him?” 

Love can be a strong word. It really can be, and Luke doesn’t know how to answer it—of course he loves Han, he loves him and admires him, but can it go _that_ deep? “I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “It’s—it’s just… a crush. It’s something small, I can get over it if you like.” 

“Oh no, Luke,” she sighs, leading him to the couch and rests her head on his shoulder as they sit down together. There’s an hour or two until Anakin gets home from work, so it’s free to talk about. Not that Luke _wants_ to. “You can have Han, Luke. I just need you to be careful. You’re young— _I was_ young. He’s a good man, he’s just—he’s—“ 

She’s not sure how to describe him. “He’s… hard. He’s complicated, and that’s a reason why we couldn’t work—we weren’t similar, only in a sassy and aggressive way, and people don’t work out that way. But with _you,”_ she giggles as Luke dodges the hair ruffle she tries to give him, “you’re so sweet, so innocent. I want you to focus on what’s best for you, okay?” 

Is Han best for him? 

“I never intended to date him. You know Han, he’d… he’d date Chewie before he’d date me.” 

Leia laughs. “You’re wrong, Chewie is disgusting. Han sees you as his best friend, and he admires you, as you admire him. I just want you to look after yourself.” 

“Yeah _yeah_ ,” Luke laughs, appreciating the talk. She’s right—Han and him _are_ close, but Luke never knew what could happen; nothing, really. Luke isn’t Han’s type, and they’re best friends—would they _really_ ruin that? “He just—“ 

“I know. He’s _him._ ” 

And there the Skywalker’s are, completely star struck for the charming, sarcastic asshole that they love. 

— 

Luke and Han design lightsabers. 

“So… they’re long glow sticks, you’re saying?” 

He’s confused. He’s holding this pole that Luke handed him; there’s paint on the floor, mats covering the wood so it doesn’t splatter everywhere. 

“Something like that,” Luke laughs, gathering together the materials to even _make_ these possible. He hasn’t spent much time researching certain things he’s wanted to, but he assumes this is good enough. “Hey, can you help me with these?” 

He’s holding a few poles, and Han helps him carry the paint up the ladder, along with Leia. 

“Why don’t you help us, Princess?” 

Luke’s heart sinks. He wanted it to be just them—he loves Leia, but wishes for more alone time with Han. Leia smiles at him but waves it off. 

“No, I’m okay. The Bachelor is calling my name,” Luke laughs at her response. “Love you, Luke! I tolerate you, Solo.” 

He bows and salutes her, not seeming to be affected by her response. He might’ve asked her to be polite, and Luke appreciates that. 

He’s a good guy. 

“Okay. Where to start?” 

He’s standing, hands on his hips, legs spread and he looks so _good._ Luke watches him for a second longer, breaks out of his trance, and waves him over. 

“We paint these. There’s colors here,” he gestures to the pallet on the floor. There’s all sorts of colors. 

They mix most of them. Han gets paint everywhere somehow, even after calling himself responsible—“ _how the fuck do you make red? Is this a joke_?” 

“Han. There’s red right here.” 

He raises his eyebrows at him amusingly as he shows him the red tube of paint, and Han mockingly scrunches his nose at him and takes the paint from his hands. 

“What colors we using anyway, kid?”

“I fantasized of red for the dark side, green, blue and purple—but that’s for one—for the Jedi,” he looks up at Han when he’s silent; he’s looking at Luke, and he has to tilt his head. “Han?” 

“Hmm?” He snaps out of it, “oh. Sorry. Your nerd shit bored me,” he mumbles, but there’s something underneath and Luke recognizes it. “Uh, okay—who’s purple? Me?” 

“You’re not a _Jedi,_ Han,” Luke laughs. “Windu. He’s a master of the Jedi council. Way before Leia and I was born, he ran the council with my father.” 

“This is some real shit you got going on, kid, damn,” Han says, seeming amazed with his ability to genuinely _tell_ a story. “Okay. Here, I’ll do Windu’s special saber, and you make your cute one, huh?” 

“My _cute_ one?” 

Han shakes his head. “Give me the purple.” 

Luke smiles and hands him the purple. 

— 

They attach the sabers to a string, hanging them along the walls of the treehouse. While it’s dark pour, the glow sticks piled up inside—it’s all they _had_ , okay?—glow, and illuminate the entire room of each color. 

Han and Luke observe it from the farthest point they can go in the treehouse. Luke is grinning from ear to ear; this is _their_ work, _they_ did this. Han and him. 

Without noticing, Luke shuffles closer, taking his hand. His hands aren’t sweaty this time—he can see Han look down at their hands, but then quickly looks back up, a hint of a smile appearing on his lips. 

“We did good, kid.”

Luke nods. “We sure did, Han.”

Luke calls Leia up to see, and as soon as she climbs up, her eyes widen. The reflection in her eyes is a deep purple, the color which stands out the most—next to red; he uses that lightsaber and appoints it as his _father’s._ It’s an important part of the story to him, and even if sometimes it feels like his dad isn’t there as much as he’d like, he loves him. 

“Oh, wow, boys. This is… this is so _cool!”_ She’s beaming at them both. “I can hardly believe _Han Solo_ did some of this work! It’s like he’s a complete new person.” 

“Haha, _princess._ Very funny,” he mocks her, but he’s smiling.

There’s so much work to be done, and they can make better sabers, but Luke has never been so content with his writing and designing. He’s so grateful to have Han here to help him, and he makes sure to let him know. Looking away from their work, he looks up at Han, a smile evident on his lips. 

“Thank you,” he mouths. Han seems to understand, smirking, nodding back to him. 

“You owe me one.”

Luke smiles. 

He’s _happy._

_—_

“Luke.” 

Luke jumps, startled by the sudden contact from Han. He places his hand on his shoulder. 

“Oh, Han. Hi,” he smiles, clutching his heart. He looks around, making sure no one’s around watching them—he doesn’t want Han to be seen with him; he’s always yelled at Luke for saying it, but he doesn’t want Han to be embarrassed. “What’s up?” 

“I just—let me walk you to class?” 

It’s a crowded hallway now. Luke feels claustrophobic, so he agrees, and is startled by the hand that Han interlocks with his. 

God, _what?_ This has to be some sort of sick joke. Han’s never held hands with him willingly—except for the play rehearsal with Leia, then the night they set up everything. 

“Why are you holding my hand?” He leans towards Han to whisper. There’s people passing them, and Luke hasn’t even _told_ Han where the class was. 

“Because I want to hold your hand, Luke.” 

That’s all he says. Luke blinks a few times. 

He lets the conversation go. 

— 

**Han:** Morning, kid. 

Luke wakes up, dazed and confused. 

The first good morning message he’s ever received from Han. He sent it two hours ago—four in the _morning?_ God, everything about this boy confuses him. 

Luke lays in bed for a few minutes. He lets the message sink in, and after a while of _realizing_ he texted him, he silently cheers and kicks and punches his bed in excitement. 

Then stops when he realizes how fucking ridiculous he probably looks. 

**Luke:** Good morning, Han! 

He eventually falls back to sleep. He’s so fucking glad that it’s Saturday. 

— 

“Let me illustrate your story.” 

Luke looks up from his notebook, head foggy and far away—he’s suffering from writer’s block, and it doesn’t help that Han is here. 

He loves him, maybe more than a friend at this point, but he _cannot_ focus when he looks like _that._

“Excuse me?” 

Han repositions himself. He pushes himself closer to Luke, who doesn’t complain, he moves closer himself—they’ve been more physical lately. “Your Star Wars, isn’t it? I want to illustrate it. Maybe make posters.” 

Luke frowns. “You draw?” 

Han smirks, “only my hidden talent, kid.” 

“No way!” Luke smiles, bouncing. “You can _draw?!_ Han!” He smiles when Han pushes his shoulder back away from him, but he’s also amused. 

“That’s when you decide to be all over me, huh?” 

Luke’s smile slips away. “You’re confusing me, you know?” 

Han sighs. Pinches his nose. 

“I’m confusing myself. Let me sketch posters, then we talk about…” he stops, gesturing between the two of them. “You got me beat, kid, you know that?” He sighs. Luke _wishes_ he knew what he was talking about. 

Instead, he reaches his hand out. Han takes it. 

— 

Han seems serious about this. 

Luke appreciates it. He never told anyone because he assumed no one would care. And somehow, he picked the _right_ person to tell. 

He trusts him more than anything. Especially in the last few months, they’ve grown closer—Luke has no idea what they are, or what either of them feel, but what they have works. 

They hang out almost every day, plan ideas for his story, work on poster sketches, and use references online. They work hard—Luke truthfully works on this more than focusing on school; he’s a _sophomore_ , he doesn’t have that much to worry about. 

The writers block seems to fade. It comes and goes occasionally, so Luke never lets it bother him much. It can stop him for a few days, but he eventually gets into the groove of everything in no time.

Han is _great_ at drawing. Luke has never known this, and neither did Leia, apparently—she knew it as a hobby, but not as good as he _is._

“You guys haven’t forgotten about me, have you?” She says sadly one day as they all lie down after a few hours of working. It’s been silent for a while, and as soon as she cuts the silence, Luke springs up. 

“No! Leia,” Luke glares at her. “Don’t talk dumb.” 

Han agrees. “C’mon, princess. Don’t be a downer,” he leans over to her and pulls her in for a hug, which she graciously accepts. 

Luke assumes they both needed that. He watches them with a smile—Leia won’t let go; she’s holding onto him like he’ll fade away in a second, and Luke assumes that’s what she’s afraid of. 

“I love you, Han Solo, no matter how annoying you may be,” she says against his shoulder, grabbing the fabric of his shirt tighter, breathing slowly. 

“Yeah, _yeah._ Love you too, Leia.” 

Luke smiles, resting against the table behind him. After they let go, Leia giggles as Han pushes her shoulder. She’s wiping her tears, and quickly goes over to her brother. 

She hugs him just as tight. With just as much love. 

She loves Han like a brother. That’s it, huh? 

“I love you too, imbecile.” 

Luke laughs. She’s hugging him facing Han, so Luke’s able to look at Han, and he’s looking right back. There’s a reflection of tears in his eyes and he quickly blinks them past. 

“I love you,” he says to Leia. 

And after the tears, they decide to go back into the house—after being scolded by Anakin—and watch a few movies. 

The posters can wait. 

—

“I look good, don’t I?” 

Han’s smirking as they both looked down at the sketch poster on the table. Luke laughs, shaking his head. 

“You purposely made yourself look that charming.” 

“Oh come on! You made me that charming, lover boy, don’t deny it,” he bumps his shoulder. Luke smiles. “Just exactly how you described me.” 

“You _are_ narcissistic.” 

Han chuckles. “I’m pretty,” he shrugs, “what can I say?” 

And he _is._ “This looks amazing, Han,” he says instead. They’re doing the parts that involve them first, since Luke hasn’t been able to completely perfect the so-called prequels yet. The story needs more pieces that’ll be added soon. “Really. I can’t believe you did this for me.” 

Han shrugs. “Don’t mention it, kid. It’s a cool fucking story you’re working on here, it’s a pleasure to help.” 

Man, he _loves_ him, Luke decides. 

“Your dad is scary.” 

Luke laughs, nodding. “He _is._ You did it perfectly, wow,” he traces the lines along the helmet, then moving it to _him._ The only color Han added is the lightsaber. His _green._

“Thanks. How about you?” 

“I look nice, don’t I?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, you do.” 

They glance at one another for a moment. Luke opens his mouth to speak, but quickly decides against it. 

“What are you so afraid of, Luke?” 

Truthfully? He doesn’t know. He wants Han, wants him bad, but is that the right decision? Should he ruin what they already have? 

“I’m scared, I guess,” he mumbles, as if they don’t already know. “You! I don’t _know—_ you drive me crazy, you know? You do all of this… stuff for me. Since when do you _like_ me, Han?” 

Han sighs, grabbing his full attention by holding onto his shoulders, looking right into his eyes. 

“You’re too clueless to know, kid. Me and you? We’ve always known, but we never said anything.” 

“You and Leia…” 

“We broke up for a lot of reasons,” he says, “but mainly because she wanted me to be happy, and when am I happy, Luke?” 

He blinks. “When you’re…” 

“—with you. When I’m with you.” 

And who is this? This isn’t Han Solo. He wouldn’t be… he wouldn’t like him, would he? 

“I did these posters for you. Not because I like you, Luke— _shit,_ being a part of this thing with you and Leia is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he breathes for a moment. Expressing feelings isn’t Han’s thing, and Luke knows this. “Let me just… let me kiss you, okay, kid?” 

Luke dumbfoundedly nods. Han takes a moment, but slides his hands away from his shoulders, releasing the pressure, instead cupping his face, holding it like he’s _so_ precious. 

It takes a moment. That’s what makes Luke’s stomach ache, the anticipation. Something he’s wanted for so long—he _has it_ now, and he leans forward as Han does, kissing him. 

There’s no fireworks. No _happily ever after,_ but there’s something; there’s a warm feeling in his fingertips, where he’s holding Han’s jacket. He can feel the buzz throughout his cheeks, exactly where Han is touching. 

Han is touching him, so warm and so comfortable—he’s in his space, and he doesn’t mind. He’s right there. 

Like Luke’s always wanted him to be. 

When he pulls back, just after a few seconds that felt like a lifetime, it takes them a moment. 

Luke’s eyes flutter open. Han’s are already open, full of admiration and happiness. There’s a silence, and Han breaks contact. 

“We should do that again sometime.”   
  
And then he’s gone. Just as fast as they kissed. 

— 

Luke is sixteen. 

Sixteen. He doesn’t feel any different.

He’s sixteen years old for about four minutes when his bedroom door swings open. “Luke!” Leia yells, “it’s our birthday! Our birthday!” She’s bouncing on the bed, and Luke is laughing. 

“Leia! Oh my _god!”_

“Han is—“ 

“Birthday bitches!” Han interrupts her, loud and clear—Luke is so surprised that Anakin isn’t here scolding them, but it’s their _birthday._

“Han!” Luke grins. The boy smiles right back at him, laying in the bed right next to him. 

“Ahh! We’re so _old_ now,” Leia sighs. She lays next to Han, making him push closer to Luke, and he has to _contain_ himself because Leia is right there. “Can you believe it, Han? Your favorite twins, _growing_ up? Are you a proud father?” 

Han glares at her in disgust. “I’m not old, ya’ know? I’m a year older. Don’t be such a downer.” She giggles and hits him playfully on the chest. 

And since when was Han’s chest so… _hard?_

Luke snaps out of it. He bumps Han’s shoulder. “Whatcha get me?” He asks, innocently smiling up at him. 

Han laughs. “You _wish.”_

They spend the night in the treehouse. Anakin and Padme wake up around six, and they all have a mini celebration early that morning. They all have school, but decide to stay home—it’s their _birthday!_ They can’t go to school. 

Luke receives texts by Han’s friends: Chewie, Lando, and a few others. It’s odd, but he accepts them, thanking them and being polite. 

“Since when do your friends like me?” 

“Huh?” Han gives him a look. “Who said they _didn’t?”_

“Hm, I don’t know… nerd status, I guess?” 

Han smiles and ruffles his hair, pestering Leia for another piece of cake that they’ve completely demolished in the last thirty minutes, somehow. “You’re a nerd, alright.” 

The day is so nice. He spends it with the two people that he loves the most; and after Leia says she’s going to hang out with friends for the rest of the night, dodging the playful banter from Han, they’re alone. 

They’re in the treehouse. 

“I did actually get you something.” 

Luke frowns. “You didn’t have to, Han—“

“ _Well_ ,” he gets up and reaches behind a few papers and posters they’ve been working on. This time, it’s a bigger piece of paper—it’s colored, and as soon as Luke recognizes it, he gasps. 

“Han!” He shrieks, quickly getting up to look at it. It’s a poster, but addressed towards the prequels. He hasn’t been able to _exactly_ pinpoint what he’s doing, but it seems to cover all of the ideas so far. “Oh—how did you even—?” 

“Leia.” 

Luke laughs. “Of course. Oh…” he observes it, paying attention to every detail. There’s so _much—_ he never noticed how much Han paid attention. He appreciates it so much. “Thank you… I’m—I’m at a loss for words.” 

Han shrugs confidently, yet shyly. It’s a completely new look on him, and Luke loves it. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

He mentions it. He places it on the table carefully, and without thinking, stands on his tiptoes to press a light kiss on Han’s lips. “Thank you,” he says, lingering there for a moment. Han places his hand on his hip, nodding against his lips. One kiss, two, then he pulls back. 

“Yeah. Of course, kid.” 

— 

Luke watches Han graduate. 

So does Leia. She’s crying more than him. 

She’s sniffling left and right, quickly denying the possibility of her even _crying._ After knowing this boy for so long, Luke has no idea why she’s still so embarrassed. 

After the ceremony, they both head down, immediately embracing him as soon as they see him. 

“Woah, hey, hey!” He laughs, welcoming them both with open arms. “You fucking idiots, you’re going to kill me,” Luke and Leia back away. “I’m not dying, you know?” 

Luke hums, and accepts the hug that Han gives him individually, a small kiss pressed on his lips. 

After all of this time, it still takes his breath away. “Ew,” Leia scrunches her nose. “Han. Hug, please.” She demands, and Han groans, separating from Luke to hug her. 

“I’m proud of you,” she says against his shoulder. He pats her back comfortingly, nodding. 

“I know.” 

Luke smiles at him once they part. 

“Denny’s?” 

“God, please, I’m starving.” 

Han says goodbye to certain people, hugs them, tells them that they’ll stay in contact but Han hasn’t _ever_ mentioned them, so it’s most likely not true. To be polite, huh? 

After half an hour, they’re on the road. 

They meet the twin’s parents at Denny’s. After all of these years, Anakin has slowly warmed up to Han, and the idea of him dating _both_ of his children at one point. 

They’re his family. He barely has anyone else, and Luke and everyone else are more than welcome to have him. He’s such an important person to Luke, and he loves him. 

As they’re waiting for breakfast, small conversation around the table, Luke leans closer to Han. “I love you,” he whispers, catching his hand under the table. 

Han nods, pressing a kiss to Luke’s temple. 

“I know.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
